and I am summer-girl happy.
More time outside;
by the pond to write sermons,
on the patio to journal and read,
in the yard to snip away all the dead stuff around the fences.
More time
to make friends with the home-chipmunks
to wear flip flops
to experiment with ice tea recipes
to quietly water the flowers at the end of the day.
Happy in the still-summer.
But it's kinda a weird.
So with the weirdness of summer-now-that-it's-fall
comes a congruence.
Yes.
Weird.
That's what this is.
Six weeks since arriving back from the cottage,
then Thailand,
attempting a non-weird re-entry,
but no,
because -- waiting.
Six weeks of waiting on a process, soon to be complete,
that has rushed by in a prolonged sort of way.
that will change everything about what I do
in dramatic
exciting
terrifying
wonky
ways.
Six weeks of waiting for the distance to be okay,
which it never really is,
but gets to a place of tolerance
usually by now.
Six weeks of waiting
now waiting for Wednesday.
Six weeks of jep-jai (heart pain)
now waiting for January.
Six weeks of trying to find my stride.
Some days traction.
Some days scrambling.
Other days just feeling off.
Yes.
Weird.
That's what it is.
Like a heat wave at the end of September
that prolongs the changing of the season.
I like the heat but I don't like the six weeks of weird.
And maybe
also
I do.
Because waiting in the weird pushes me;
deeper into listening,
lower into humility
higher into breathless risk-taking,
further into trust,
harder into surrender,
where the waiting becomes something unto itself.
Waiting when it's still summer waiting to be fall.
Waiting when it's still now waiting for it to be new.
Waiting with You
with You waiting with me.
